


Collected Shorts

by fictocriticism



Category: Glee, Glee RPF
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, Drabble, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 15,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictocriticism/pseuds/fictocriticism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of my shorter fics from over on Tumblr. Each chapter is an individual drabble or short work, with a variety of pairings. Many of these snippets are unedited and unbeta-ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teachers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Alianne, who’s having a long day. Hope this cheers you up :D. This is a little snippet that is set after my Teacher!Klaine series (starting with Teacher’s Desk). 
> 
> Kurt/Blaine, ~350 words

Kurt yawned, his jaw cracking obscenely. His bed felt  _amazing_ . He never wanted to get out of it. He  _definitely_ didn’t want to get out of it to go to work and grade junior drama performances. It was going to be hell. He’d seen the rehearsals. He knew there weren’t any great talents hiding in amongst the groups at this stage. In fact, he’d be lucky to get something that wasn’t borderline offensive or what could pass as interpretative dance. 

“Babe?" 

Blaine stuck his head in the door, his hair still tousled and curly. He was holding a cup of coffee and Kurt thrust his hands out in a grabby gesture. Blaine smiled coyly and shook his head. 

"Oh no, you don’t get coffee until you’re out of bed. I’ve learnt that the hard way.”

“Blaine,” Kurt whined, his voice still sleepy and scratchy from last night’s late activities. He knew Blaine loved hearing it, loved watching his eyes darken in response. 

“Come on, up you get,” his boyfriend chuckled. “Those performances won’t grade themselves.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” Kurt grumbled, flinging an arm over his eyes. 

“If you get up and go to work on time, I’ll blow you under your desk this afternoon.”

Kurt’s eyes shot open and he boosted himself up onto his elbows. “Blaine Anderson! I am  _shocked_!" 

"Says the man who seduced me in the classroom to begin with.” Blaine’s smile was smug and gorgeous. Kurt felt himself smile in response, couldn’t stop it from emerging if he tried. This man. Even on an average day he made him feel amazing. 

“Well, alright then. I’ll accept your bribe,” he said, going for stern but mostly coming across as flirtatious. “No watching me shower though. You’ll have to wait ‘til this afternoon.”

“Oh but that’s my favourite part of the morning!” Blaine said and watched unabashedly as Kurt walked naked to the bathroom, going so far as to smack his bare ass as he passed by. 

Kurt just bit his lip and put an extra sway into his walk. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all. 


	2. Blazer Snatcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darren/Grant RPF, written for Nikki at weloveftf.tumblr.com

“What–?” Grant tried to get out before he was bodily pushed inside his trailer.

Before he realised what was happening, he was being attacked –  _actually_  attacked. Should he be panicking? He’d been warned the Glee fans were, uhh, intense. Someone’s hands were running up his torso, smoothing over the lines of his blazer, before they settled on his shoulders. Then, the person behind him (they seemed to be short, if the way the arms had to reach up were anything to go by) started manhandling his jacket off one arm. 

“What the  _fuck_?” Grant exclaimed. 

Just then, the person spun him around in order to rip the blazer from his other side. 

“Darren?” he asked incredulously. The other man was gelled, clearly in dapper Blaine mode, but his eyes were wild. 

“I won’t let it go!” he shouted, bundling the jacket up in front of him and eyeing Grant off menacingly. Grant cowered a little at what appeared to be the first signs of madness in his expression. 

“You can’t take it from me!” Darren shrieked, and darted from the trailer, blazer gripped tightly in both hands. Grant watched him zigzag across the lot.

“It won’t fit you!” Grant yelled futilely after him. “You’re barely 5ft tall.”

“5ft 6 and a HALF,” drifted the reply.

Grant just shook his head, dazed by the whole incident. It had taken less than a minute. He wandered back out of his trailer and wondered who he needed to talk to about a new Warbler blazer. 

Later, when he was being measured by Imogen, the  _lovely_ wardrobe assistant, she sighed. “That’s the third one this week,” she said desolately. 


	3. Tramp Stamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seblaine, ~500 words. NC-17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _For Nikki, who loves her Seblaine_. Written at weloveftf.tumblr.com

Sebastian gripped Blaine’s ass hard, loving the way his hands looked against Blaine’s darker tone. He pressed over the ink swirling on Blaine’s hip, still a little raised and red. Blaine hissed a tiny bit at the touch and Sebastian leant in to place a gentle kiss on the inflamed skin. 

“Can’t believe you got a tattoo,” he murmured into Blaine’s hipbone. Blaine was breathing hard, his body hot to touch underneath him. He was down on his elbows now, cheek pressed into the cool sheets, eyes tightly closed. He was stunning.   
  
Sebastian tongued at the shape, a tiny musical note — so ridiculous, the sort of thing a teenage girl would get, or apparently  _Blaine_  — that Sebastian would die before admitting looked cute. Blaine whined at the touch, hands clenching. Sebastian grinned and continued on, his tongue leaving trails of glistening skin as he dipped it into the dimples on Blaine’s back. He laved his tongue over the wide globe of Blaine’s ass, delighting in the goosebumps that rose along his path.   
  
“You’re being so good for me,” he whispered, and watched Blaine shiver beneath him. “I’m going to eat you out now,” he said and set to work spreading Blaine’s ass open and licking into him quickly. No time to adjust, just straight to his goal, sliding his tongue around his hole and thrusting it in, no rhyme or rhythm.   
  
He didn’t let up, kept going, listening to Blaine’s broken whining. Sebastian kept his hands tightly gripped on Blaine’s beautiful ass, pushing him closer to the edge so then he could fuck into him sloppy and wet. He let one hand brush up against that inked skin, let his fingers map out the design, press gently so that Blaine bucked up in response.   
  
“Does it hurt, baby?” he asked, pulling his mouth back just enough to draw in some deep breaths.    
  
Blaine panted out something close to a ‘no’ and that was all Sebastian needed to lean back in and get back to work, letting Blaine’s distinctive scent overpower him. He knew Blaine was getting close, could feel the way he instinctively moved his hips, could feel the muscle clenching underneath his tongue. He pushed his tongue in as far as it could go, wrapped one hand around the front of Blaine’s hips to wrap loosely at his cock, and pressed his other thumb hard onto the newly tattooed skin.   
  
It took one stroke before Blaine wailed brokenly and spilled drops of come over his hand, his hole clenching rapidly against Sebastian’s tongue.  _Perfect_.   
  
And so what if when Sebastian fucked into Blaine, loose and open from his mouth, he kept one finger pressed on that stupid, embarrassing tattoo the whole time? Blaine didn’t seem to care when he pulled out and came all over his back, striping the design haphazardly. Sebastian licked it up gently, dragging his tongue over the spot that started it all.  
  
Maybe he’d have to accompany Blaine to the tattoo parlour next time.  


	4. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine gets drunk. ~600 words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seblaine.

Sebastian grimaced as Blaine heaved spectacularly loudly into the toilet bowl. He had a sympathetic gag reflex sometimes, so he had to look away even while his hand kept making soothing circles on Blaine’s back. 

“You’re okay,” he murmured, eyes raking over what he could see of the sink. Could Blaine have any more bottles of hairgel? Unlikely. 

“I feel gross,” Blaine whined, words slurred. He was a mess; hair messy with leftover gel, wearing only his pyjama bottoms (and hadn't  _that_  been an entertaining experience).

Sebastian wanted to find him disgusting. Really, he did - the boy was smashed, booze combined with grief to make him inconsolable and incomprehensible. He’d ruined Sebastian’s night by spotting him at Scandals and flopping into his lap before proceeding to cry all over the shoulder of his favourite shirt. Then he’d nearly passed out while the security guard was watching, getting them kicked out before Sebastian had even pulled a phone number. 

And now, he was sitting on the floor of Blaine’s bathroom watching the guy who he’d called sex on a stick puke his entire stomach into a toilet while rubbing his warm skin and forcing sips of water on him? What a nightmare. Sebastian’s stomach turned as he watched Blaine’s eyes shut and his mouth purse unhappily. It was probably the stench of vomit that had him feeling this awkward tightness in his gut. 

Blaine let out a pitiful whimper and lay his head down. 

“No,” Sebastian said firmly. “No sleeping in the bathroom. Are you feeling any better?”

Blaine tried to hold his thumb and finger apart to show him how much before letting his hand fall as if it was too heavy to hold up. 

“Okay,” Sebastian said, and gamely gripped Blaine under the arms while resolutely ignoring the play of muscle and the warmth of his skin under his hands. “You’re going to bed.”

He awkwardly maneuvered him into the bed in Blaine’s room, noting the convenience of an ensuite for this kind of thing. He let Blaine slither onto the mattress out of his arms - he was surprisingly built for a short guy, especially now that Sebastian could clearly see his abs as he sprawled onto the bed. Blaine mumbled something incomprehensible and Sebastian sighed. He left Blaine scrambling futilely at the sheets as he looked for a bucket or a container for emergencies. When he got back, Blaine had one leg under the covers and one leg out, his arms trapped awkwardly in a sheet and he was already asleep. 

It was the most skin Sebastian had ever seen of Blaine’s, all golden brown and even. There were no weird t-shirt lines on his arms and Sebastian tried not to picture him working out, his uncovered shoulders gleaming with sweat as he swung at the punching bag. Instead, he straightened the boy up properly, brushed his hair back of his forehead, and sat down on the opposite side of the bed. 

He kicked his shoes off and stretched his legs out, ignoring the way his feet stopped way after Blaine’s. He didn’t look at the way they fit together on the bed or the way Blaine shifted unconsciously towards him.

Instead, he pulled out his phone to play games. He’d just stay for a couple of hours, make sure Blaine didn’t choke to death in his sleep, and then slip out. No need to make the embarrassment worse by still being here in the morning - the hangover would be punishment enough. 


	5. Underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta’d drabble that came out of a text conversation with Nikki, my favourite Seblaine enabler. ~850 words
> 
> Seblaine, NC-17

The first time they talk about Blaine topping is after a party with their old Warbler friends. They’ve been together six months and Blaine’s never had such an exciting sex life. They fuck against walls, in showers, against the floor. Once, memorably, they fucked awkwardly on the back seat of Sebastian’s car.

But this time, they’re both a bit tipsy and they’re stripping casually out of their clothes, Sebastian’s tie catching around his neck in his haste. Blaine eases it off for him and throws it on the floor (Sebastian knows he won’t be able to find that in the morning) before pushing him back onto the bed. They’re good at this now, smooth and practised enough that Blaine’s gasping around Sebastian’s fingers within minutes, both hard and desperate. The alcohol adds a slight haze, makes Blaine’s skin glow or something equally embarrassing – Sebastian’s a sentimental drunk.

But it’s not enough to stifle the feeling of Blaine’s body softening around his fingers, stretching easily for him since they do this all the time. Fingering is pleasure not necessity. And isn’t is just pleasurable indeed.

Sebastian watches Blaine’s face, sees the creases between his eyebrows and the way his mouth has fallen open to pant. He looks desperate,  _phenomenal_. It makes Sebastian’s stomach buzz pleasantly and his heart thump in his chest. His cock is throbbing already and he lets his eyes linger on where Blaine’s erection is laying against his stomach, bouncing with every moan slipping out of Blaine’s mouth.

“Jesus,” Sebastian murmurs. “Look at you.”

Blaine grins briefly, before tossing his head to the side at a particularly thorough stroke of Sebastian’s fingers.

“You’d look like this too if you were here,” he gasps, and Sebastian can’t take his eyes off his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. Blaine notices his glance and chuckles, then slowly licks his lips until they are pink and glistening.

Sebastian groans and drops his head onto Blaine’s shoulder, biting gently at the skin on his collarbone. He can taste Blaine’s sweat, the way his blood heats through his skin when he has been drinking.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, and grins when Blaine shuddered. 

He pulls up, sits back enough that he can rearrange Blaine underneath him, pushing his legs up and out until he can slot himself in between them comfortably. The sight is enough to increase the pressure in his chest, and he’s aching all over now, heat in his stomach and his calves, all the way to his shoulders. He lines himself up after finding the bottle of lube slowly leaking underneath the sheet, sliding into Blaine’s body with a familiar push. He’s bare and Sebastian still finds it incredibly hot, feeling the tight press of Blaine’s body without any barrier in between. It was worth being so careful in his more promiscuous youth, worth every refusal of a quick fuck with no protection, to be here now, with a clean slate for Blaine.

Blaine’s eyes are closed, his chest flushed and sticky. Sebastian feels the sweat between them where they are locked together at the hips and thighs, and it’s something he never thought he would love.

“Blaine,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him quickly. “You feel so good.”

He feels Blaine’s hands on his back, slipping down to his hips and gripping, feels Blaine start to push up into the movement, hard enough to dislodge Sebastian’s rhythm. He stops moving, lets Blaine shift himself around and draw Sebastian’s cock into his body, watches the way he bites his lip in concentration.

“Who’s in charge here?” Sebastian asks, unable to help the grin on his face.

Blaine’s next thrust nearly dislodges Sebastian out of position, and he finds himself shifting on his arms to stay connected, chuckling at Blaine’s enthusiasm.

“Feisty,” he says, leaning in again to lick at Blaine’s ear. “I know you’re strong enough to flip me, is that what you want?”

Blaine huffs and shifts his legs, wrapping them around Sebastian’s waist and pushing up until he’s sitting in Sebastian’s lap. The movement has Sebastian groaning as Blaine sinks down until he’s flush against his ass. He grips Blaine’s hips, tries to pump up into him but Blaine flicks his hands away.

“My turn,” he says, and proceeds to fuck himself expertly on Sebastian’s cock. Sebastian’s groaning before he even realises what’s happening and he’s never felt so passive during sex in his life. Blaine’s all over him, hands running over his skin – shoulders, hips, back, face – and he’s panting like he’s running a sprint. He’s close now, Blaine’s body squeezing tightly around him.

“God, I like you bossy,” Sebastian says, nearly breathless after a particularly powerful thrust of Blaine’s hips. Blaine grins, showing teeth, and licks messily up the side of Sebastian’s face.

“Imagine if I was the one fucking you,” he says slyly and then laughs when Sebastian grits his teeth, throws his head back, and comes hard in Blaine’s ass. 


	6. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurtbastian, kind of. For foolhearts.

“Hey Kurt,” Sebastian said, sliding into the chair across from him. “I didn’t expect to see you around the Lima Bean after summer ended.”

Kurt ground his teeth, hard, and refused to look up from his laptop. 

“Leave me alone, Sebastian. I’m not in the mood.”

Sebastian smirked. “Poor baby. Real life a bit harder than you thought?” He crossed his arms in that way that somehow made him look pretentious and bored simultaneously. But his eyes gave him away, knowing and intent. 

“Heard NYADA was a flop. Tough break. Better luck next year, right? Ohhh, except I guess you’re probably going to be stuck in Lima. I mean, what’s New York going to want a boy like you for?”

Kurt felt his blood boiling. He knew he was flushed in his cheeks, colour probably staining his face in that splotchy, uneven way that he hated.

“Just shut up. Leave me alone.”

He didn’t raise his voice, kept it as calm and level as possible, but he couldn’t keep the venom out of his tone. He kicked himself immediately, knowing he’d played into his hands. God, why couldn’t Blaine finish ordering already? 

Sebastian stood up fluidly, and Kurt blinked in shock at him. 

“Are you  _actually_  leaving?” he asked, before he kicked himself again for engaging the enemy. 

“I’m done here,” Sebastian said. He leaned in and placed one hand on Kurt’s shoulder, a point of heat between them. Kurt’s body felt surprisingly leaden, unable to shake him off. “Besides,” he said in a low voice, “now it looks like I can taunt you more regularly. I can’t wait.”

And then he was gone, striding out the door in a way that made that hideous Dalton uniform cling rather snugly to his ass. 

Not that Kurt was looking. 

It was going to be a long year. 


	7. Masterclass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooper turns up at Dalton for another patented masterclass. ~750 words. Sebastian + Cooper.

Sebastian looked up at the sound of voices arguing in the hallway. Their teacher, Ms Hilton, was obviously eavesdropping too. She was in the middle of explaining the technical forms of tragedy in one of their few theoretical drama lessons. Sebastian hated theoretical lessons but topping the subject required topping all elements so he stuck with it.   
  
“Please, Mr Anderson–” the Dean says loudly, before he is cut off by the other man laughing.   
  
“No thanks necessary, Dean. I’m just here to help the kids.”   
  
And then a man sweeps through their classroom door, his hair lightly curled and falling gently on his frankly  _gorgeous_  face. He’s a walking prince.   
  
Sebastian is impressed.   
  
The Dean trails in uncomfortably behind him, and mutters something under his breath to Ms Hilton. It appears to be too late to get her on side, however; she’s already blushing while the man drops a kiss to the back of her hand and says in a deep voice, “M’lady.”  
  
“Students,” the Dean starts in a world-weary tone, “this is Cooper Anderson. Currently an aspiring actor in Hollywood and a Dalton Academy alumni. He will be taking an  _impromptu_ acting masterclass today.”  
  
Cooper Anderson stood with the confidence of a man successfully having sex on a regularly basis. Sebastian can tell. He’s walked that walk before.   
  
“I think you’ll find it’s just  _actor_ , Dean. No further aspirations necessary!” He spreads his arms as if waiting for applause. A few boys clap awkwardly; Trent’s hands come together so fast he looks like he’s moving in fast forward.   
  
“So kids,” Cooper says, moving about the room and occasionally pausing and flashing pasted smiles to the room. “I’m here to take a masterclass. I’ve just been over at McKinley High in Lima visiting my little brother and I thought it would be a good opportunity to check out my old alma mater.”  
  
 _Brother_? Sebastian smiles toothily as the pieces come together. Cooper  _Anderson_.  _Blaine_. Of course.   
  
Sebastian spends the next hour playing starstruck schoolboy. He follows Cooper’s every instruction, ducks his head under his praise, ignores the look Nick shoots him when he starts mimicking Cooper’s acting techniques and nearly clocks him in the face.   
  
“This is serious,” Cooper emotes. “A man in a dress is dead.”  
  
Sebastian purses his lips together so hard he nearly stops breathing.   
  
It’s all worth it when Cooper stops him after class and pats him genially on the arm. “You’ve got talent, kid. What was your name again?”   
  
Sebastian simpers slightly. “Sebastian, sir.”  
  
Cooper laughs easily, and he really is an attractive man.  _Good genes_ , Sebastian thinks.  _What a family._    
  
“Please, just call me Coop.”  
  
“Alright then, Coop,” Sebastian says with a shy smile. “Are you staying in Ohio long?” he asks, the innocence of the question oozing thickly in his voice.   
  
“No, only a few more days. Got some big things coming up in LA,” Cooper says, rubbing his hands together.   
  
Sebastian pouts and then leans in close, lets one hand drift to Cooper’s shoulder. “I was hoping maybe we could get to know each other a little better before you left.”  
  
He watches Cooper’s mind slowly tick over. It’s almost slower than paint drying.  _Jesus_.   
  
“Oh, look, I’m sorry, Sebastian,” he says, so genuinely, like he has stray boys coming on to him all the time. “I’m really into women.”  
  
Sebastian widens his eyes theatrically and gasps. “Oh my  _god_ , I’m  _so sorry_ ,” he says, and hides his grin behind one hand when Cooper’s eyes light up.   
  
“But there’s someone I think you should meet,” he says, and he’s grinning widely now, satisfied with his plan. “My little brother lives in Ohio and I reckon if you like the look of me,” here Cooper pauses and gestures at himself, “you’ll like the look of him.” Cooper pauses briefly for a second here. “I mean, he has a boyfriend though, so don’t go getting your hopes up.”   
  
Sebastian smiles prettily and murmurs, “oh no, of course not.”   
  
Cooper looks him over once more, and Sebastian hopes in a strangely desperate way that he’s comparing him to Kurt, finding the gaps that Kurt can’t fill. “But a chat can’t hurt, can it?”  
  
Sebastian blinks widely at him. “A chat would be lovely. Thank you, Cooper.”  
  
He waves after Cooper’s car pulling out of the parking lot and thinks  _now that’s acting_. Then he hastens inside. He has a ‘casual chat’ to prepare for. He can’t wait to see the look on Blaine’s face when he finds Sebastian waiting for him.  


	8. Sebastian and Blaine as BFFs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Platonic Seblaine. ~500 words.

Sebastian groaned and rolled over, shoving his face into his pillow. God, Blaine was at it  _again_ . Did he ever sleep? If he kept up this rate, his dick would probably fall off before the end of term. A low moan sounded from the other side of the room and then abruptly cut off as if he’d slapped a hand across his own mouth. It did nothing to stop Sebastian hearing the wet panting of breath and the quiet slap of skin. Oh  _come on_ . They might be best friends, but this was over the line. 

“Blaine!” Sebastian said loudly. “Seriously, dude, you have to stop.”

There was a squeak from the other bed and the sound of sheets rustling and then Blaine was babbling. 

“Oh god, sorry, so sorry, I didn’t realise you could hear me–”

Sebastian rolled his eyes at that. “You’re not subtle. It’s been every night this week. And every other night the week before.”

Blaine made a soft noise of despair. Sebastian couldn’t help but chuckle because he was familiar with that sound and he knew what look accompanied it. Classic Anderson puppy eyes. 

“Stop that,” Sebastian said. “It’s fine. Just noisy.”

Blaine heaved a sigh that trailed off into awkward snorts of laughter. “Oh my  _god_ ,” he said. “I just want to die of embarrassment.”

Sebastian rolled over so he was facing towards Blaine’s bed. The light was off and it was pitch dark – Sebastian had replaced the curtains with black-out material so he could sleep properly – but he felt better looking at him. 

“Nah, don’t worry,” Sebastian said, letting a grin colour his voice. “You’ve got great stamina.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Blaine moaned again. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me,” Sebastian said. “I bring you breakfast when you sleep in late.”

Blaine made a dissenting noise. 

“And I didn’t tell Wes when you were too hungover for practice that time.”

Blaine didn’t even respond that time. Sebastian could hear him shifting around; he was such a restless sleeper. Normally it was endearing. Lately it was unbearable. 

Sebastian waited a beat and then went for the kill. 

“And I got you a date with Kurt on Saturday.”

“ _What_?” Blaine gasped and there was a crack as he knocked his head against the bedhead. “ _Ow_. Are you serious? Sebastian, oh my god, really? What did he say?”

Sebastian chuckled and felt his toes wriggling with delight.  

“Oh, he said so many things. But most importantly he said yes. Pick him up at 7.”

Blaine let out an obscenely joyous sigh. Sebastian just laughed harder. 

“Now go to sleep, killer. I don’t want to hear you jerking off anymore. Go take your sexual energy out on him.”

“Oh come on, now I’m all worked up!” Blaine said teasingly. 

“No!” Sebastian shouted, too loud for the dormitory room. But it had been a long couple of weeks. “It’s forbidden. There’s a bro code for a reason, Blaine. Go use the shower like a normal person.”

Blaine flopped back onto the mattress with a soft thump. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said tartly. “Some of us have sleeping to do.”

Blaine chuckled. Sebastian let his breathing even out and his eyes start to close. 

“Thank you,” Blaine whispered. Sebastian couldn’t stop the grin spreading on his face then. 

“Anytime,” Sebastian replied in a low voice, and let the blissful silence of the room lull him into sleep. 


	9. Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine auditions for Jesse’s new musical on Broadway. ~1000 words. Blaine/Jesse St James

"My name’s Blaine Anderson and I’m auditioning for Tony.”

Blaine swallowed, pushed past the lump in his throat. He was a dab hand at auditions these days, multiple ones every week. All the same responses though. 

_Great look. Bit short though._

_We just need your voice to be a little stronger._

_Not sure if you’re the right fit for the part._

_Can you try being more sexy?_

He knew better than to take it personally by now. That didn’t stop him from feeling a burst of nervous adrenalin every time he went for a new role. It didn’t stop the thrumming in his veins and the way he couldn’t stop thinking, maybe this time. 

He breathed deeply a few times, settled himself into the familiar pose he’d perfected for Tony, and looked up and out. There are three people in the room – the producer, a stodgy looking guy that Blaine didn’t recognise; Rachel Berry, the up and coming Broadway darling already locked in to play Maria (and thank goodness she was tiny); and Jesse St James, the director.

Jesse’s reputation preceded him. He was ferocious but insanely talented, excellent at grooming the next big thing and flinging them into stardom. Rachel was one of his best finds so far and her career was hurtling towards a Tony. 

He was also insanely attractive, with his loosely styled hair that ached of casualness. His long neck emphasised by his dark scarf, the way he sat with his legs spread under the table with a sly grin on his face. He was a little obnoxious, a lot pretentious, and Blaine had wanted him ever since he’d first laid eyes on him when he’d scored an invite to a cast party for his production of  _Kiss Me Kate_. 

Blaine had spent the entire night watching him across the room, downing glass after glass of champagne as his ‘date’, Sebastian, had sucked bruises into his neck. Jesse had looked his way once, when Sebastian had a hand over his crotch while pressing him up against a wall and Blaine had shuddered obviously. Jesse’s eyes roamed over him and he’d smiled, a cat with the cream expression that suited him perfectly and when he’d licked his lips pointedly, Blaine nearly came in his pants. 

It hadn’t been his best evening. Needless to say, Sebastian disappeared off Blaine’s radar not long after that. Even if Blaine had resolved himself to never seeing Jesse St James again. 

But Blaine wanted this role. He  _really_  wanted this role, and even though he had minimal experience and the same degree under his belt like every other wannabe in this city, he could do it. He knew he could. He drew himself together and nodded his cue, indicating he was ready. 

“Well then, Blaine Anderson,” Jesse drawled, and his voice sounded thick and smooth and Blaine wanted to soak in it. “Please begin.”

He only realised he’d finished the entire song when it was over.  _Something’s Coming_  was his favourite and his best audition piece, but he hadn’t expected to get through it all. His heart was pounding and he couldn’t look at Jesse now, couldn’t see the line of his jaw and not say something stupid so he focused his attention on Rachel. She was gorgeous too, in a strikingly unusual way, and Blaine couldn’t help but grin shyly in response to her warm eyes and soft smile. She was bouncing a little in her seat and nodding her head, and her enthusiasm was catching. 

“You have a lovely voice, Blaine, if a little breathy at times,” Jesse said then and Blaine’s attention was caught like a fly in a web. “There’s a bit of work to be done, and you’re a bit short. But I think we’d like to see you again.”

He smiled widely then, his teeth showing, and Blaine felt his breath catch awkwardly in his chest. The criticism hurt, but somehow it felt truthful and constructive rather than painful and unnecessary.

Jesse beckoned him forward and held out a card. "We’ll be in touch,“ he said. "But if you have any questions, feel free to call. My number’s on the back.”

Blaine bit his lip when their fingers touched. He felt dazed, only shaking out of it when he noticed Rachel’s quiet snort of amusement. 

“Thank you,” he managed. “Um, my number’s on my resume.”

“I should hope so,” Jesse said with a chuckle, while Blaine tried to disappear into the floor. 

“I mean,” he started awkwardly, and then resolved to power through. This was possibly his one opportunity to show his intent, after all. “I mean, if you wanted to call for any other reason.” _God_ , did he just sort of cock his hip like some sort of strange chorus girl? 

Jesse’s smile widened even further. 

“Oh, I like you,” he said. “Sassy Blaine Anderson.”

Blaine scrambled to grab his bag and head towards the door before he said something else stupid or actually burst into flames from embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he said quickly before he slipped out.

“My  _pleasure_!” Jesse called just as the door closed behind him.

Blaine slumped against the wall immediately and tried to catch his breath. He looked at the card in his hand again, finger tracing over the  _Jesse St James_  embossed on the front.

“You look awful,” a guy next to him said. “Rough audition?”

The guy’s fake sympathy was tangible. Blaine plastered on his widest smile. 

“It was great, actually,” he said, hauling himself to his feet. “I think this might be my break!" 

He didn’t stick around to watch the deepening frown on the other guy’s face. He had a callback to prepare for. 


	10. Kitchen Capers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _intergalacticafro asked you:  
>  If you don’t mind a drive-by prompt, Domestic Sebklaine would be lovely. I like to see people’s interpretations of their dynamic._
> 
> _Interestingly, my instinctive response here is to write something from Kurt’s POV. So I specifically went against that. I hope you don’t mind! This is not connected to my other Sebklaine story, just fyi._
> 
> _And so, 800 words of domestic!fluff._

Sometimes, Blaine mused, being part of a polygamous relationship was super convenient. Things just  _got done_. As he put away the last of the cold groceries into the freezer, Kurt finished slicing the vegetables for dinner, and Sebastian poured their drinks with his usual, unnecessary flourish. Sebastian had to make the drinks – he wasn’t allowed to touch the food except for when portioning the leftovers away into containers.   
  
After six months of their new living arrangement, things had settled down. Sebastian knew when to make a strategic retreat out of the kitchen – and  _there_ it was, when Kurt flicked on the gas and poured oil into the frypan. The first time Kurt had made dinner, Sebastian accidentally walked through his path at the wrong moment, splattering onion all over the floor and the night ended with the three of them picking up diced onion with tears in their eyes.   
  
Blaine grabbed his drink and joined Sebastian on the upside of the kitchen bar, clinking their glasses together and watching Kurt work. Kurt’s night to cook was always the best night. Ever since they were young and in love, Kurt had taken to cooking with a flair that Blaine had never achieved. It meant he spent most nights watching Kurt’s casual grace enviously.   
  
“Come on, B,” Sebastian said, hooking an ankle loosely around his, “you know you’re the baker of the family.”  
  
Blaine smiled, unsurprised that Sebastian knew what he was thinking, as always. And he did bake  _amazing_ cookies.   
  
They stood there with shoulders touching, ankles rubbing gently, sipping their drinks. Sebastian asked Kurt a couple of questions about his day - Blaine loved hearing the two of them talk, passionate and intense, but always careful.   
  
“I shouldn’t  _have_ to pull him up for being an idiot; he’s incompetent and always will be!”  
  
“Hey, you  _know_ I am all for letting idiots wallow in their own uselessness, but if you’re going to have to keep working with him, you need to find a way around it.”  
  
Kurt clenched his jaw and stirred the meat viciously.   
  
“I just hate having to compromise  _my_ standards because someone else can’t keep up,” he said.   
  
Blaine hated hearing that tone in Kurt’s voice, tired and beaten, so he slipped back into the kitchen and gently circled in behind Kurt, resting his hands casually on his hips and his forehead on his back. Although he couldn’t put his head on Kurt’s shoulder like Bas could, Blaine loved being able to smell Kurt like this. Day old cologne and slight perspiration, unchanging from when they were young.   
  
He tuned back in to the conversation to hear Sebastian saying, “–that’s up to you. But for this show, you need to get through it. Fire him straight after closing night if you have to, but unless you have a second intern literally waiting in the wings…”  
  
Blaine felt Kurt’s exhale through his body, the way the tension drained out of his shoulders and his spine softened slightly. He reached his arms around his waist until they could touch in the middle and felt Kurt lean back into his embrace.   
  
“You’re right,” Kurt said. “Of course, you’re right. I just–”  
  
“Hate idiots. I know,” Sebastian said, laughing. “Shame you got stuck with two of them then.”  
  
“Hey!” Blaine said, his voice muffled in the back of Kurt’s shirt.   
  
Kurt chuckled, shaking his whole body, and Blaine grinned widely despite the fact neither of them could see it.   
  
“Okay, time to set the table,” Kurt said, and wriggled his hips until Blaine had to step away or cause an inappropriate scene in the kitchen. Not that it would be the first time, but Kurt had forbidden hanky-panky while the gas was on.   
  
Sebastian sighed exaggeratedly before pulling out cutlery to set their dining table. “I still don’t understand why we can’t eat in front of the TV,” he called petulantly from the other side of the room.   
  
“ _I_ still don’t understand why we couldn’t get that beautiful round table I saw. No corners! We would never fight over who got to sit where.”  
  
“It was hideous, Kurt,” Sebastian said.   
  
“It was not!”   
  
“And completely impractical. What if we have guests?”  
  
“We pull more chairs in!”  
  
“And eat in our laps?”  
  
“Another drink anyone?” Blaine asked, breaking in before the conversation could unravel completely.   
  
Sebastian smirked, clearly not oblivious to the ploy. “Sure thing, B. Something hot and heavy for me, please.”  
  
Blaine bit his cheek to stop from smiling, instead raising an eyebrow in the way Kurt had taught him before Sebastian moved in.   
  
“If you say–”  
  
“Your cock?” Sebastian asked, “Oh my  _god_ , Blaine. How vulgar!”  
  
“Children,” Kurt cut them off by setting three plates down on the table. “No innuendo during dinner, you know the rules.”  
  
“Yeah yeah,” Sebastian said sullenly.   
  
But no one called him out on his epic game of footsie under the table. 


	11. Coral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30 days of writing challenge – drabbles
> 
> lecture; photograph; coral; apartment; agony; telephone; painting; laziness; champagne; swimsuits; grotesque; Malibu; crime; specialist; attractive; illegal; sample; greed; divine; reputation; epic; anthology; decent; catastrophe; signal; prompt; grand; solicitor; air, obstruction
> 
> #1: Coral (Kurt/Blaine, G)
> 
> ~430 words

“Blaine, I’m not sure I’m okay with this.”

“Trust me, it will be spectacular. Look at this place!”  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Kurt agreed mutinously. He’d been in a funk since Blaine had coerced him onto the boat. He’d been promised cocktails and sunshine and instead he was sipping from a can of lemonade and wearing a wetsuit before he was supposed to throw himself off the side of a boat and into the ocean.  
  
He looked over to where Blaine was chatting with the diving instructor. His husband – and wasn’t  _that_  a treat – was animated, hands flying through the air, and Kurt couldn’t help but grin. He was adorable when he was excited. He’d taken to leaving his hair uncurled since they’d arrived, the humidity keeping it frizzy even with gel, and Kurt’s fingers itched with the now rather common desire to touch. Two weeks at the Whitsundays had meant Blaine’s tan had deepened even further, leaving him a delicious golden colour, whereas Kurt had merely freckled. Still, he could overlook the blemishes considering Blaine made sure to lavish attention on every single one.  
  
Kurt tore his gaze away to the horizon, trying to ignore the subtle roiling of his stomach. If he got seasick, he was going to  _kill_  Blaine, regardless of how beautiful the promised coral and tropical fish looked underwater.  
  
Blaine slid back into the seat next to him and wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulders.  
  
“You look great, Mr Anderson” he whispered hotly into Kurt’s ear. Kurt shifted minutely in his seat while rolling his eyes.  
  
“I’m not changing my name,” he said. Blaine blinked innocently.  
  
“I know!” he exclaimed. “I’m just trying it out, that’s all.”  
  
Kurt sighed and snuggled closer into Blaine’s side, ignoring the strange sensation of their wetsuits rubbing together. Blaine’s arm tightened and Kurt let his eyes slide closed, enjoying the feeling of the sunshine and his husband.  
  
“Oh, and I found a great movie for us to watch when we get back to the hotel tonight,” Blaine said. “It’s called  _Open Water_.”  
  
“Yeah?” Kurt murmured. “Sounds great.”  
  
“Yeah, it does!” Blaine said. “It’s about a couple left alone in the ocean after their diving boat heads back without them.”  
  
Kurt sat bolt upright, could feel his eyes widening. “ _What_?” he breathed.  
  
Blaine just laughed. “Yeah, silly. That’s why I got it for  _tonight_  rather than last night.”  
  
Blaine kept smiling, that stupid fond smile that Kurt really found incredibly  _irritating_  and not in the least bit attractive, until Kurt punched him hard in the shoulder.


	12. Specialist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #2: specialist (kurt/blaine/sebastian), G.
> 
> ~870 words
> 
> Warning: angst, character death (like, what? I don’t know how or why that happened.)

Kurt frowns at the child two chairs over, screaming like its lungs were burning up inside its body. He’s aware this was an irrational response, but he’s just spent the last four hours sitting in a hospital chair with no idea what is wrong with Blaine and things are no longer rational. 

“Mr Hummel?”  
  
Kurt blinks up at the doctor, unconsciously noting the attractive lines of her face and her demure heels while he follows her into a private room. Then, she loses all of his attention as he sees Blaine lying on the hospital bed. His hair’s wild and curly, face pale and drawn. His eyes are closed but he smiles and murmurs something that might be his name when the doctor announces Kurt’s presence.   
  
Kurt sits tentatively at his side, sliding his hand to Blaine’s immediately and wishing he could just pour his usual enthusiasm back into him.   
  
“Mr Hummel?” The doctor calls his attention again and Kurt turns to face her. She offers him a gentle smile.   
  
“I’m Dr Singer, a cardiothoracic surgeon,” she begins. “I was the one who operated on Mr Anderson here when he came in this afternoon. The crash was severe and he had lost a lot of blood. We were able to stabilise him quickly, but he had significant damage to his leg and arm.”  
  
Kurt tries hard to steady his breathing, knowing that Blaine is alive, knowing he’s okay, knowing they can get through this.   
  
“The good news is that I’ve reset the bones, and, assuming Blaine’s recovery goes smoothly, there’s no reason he shouldn’t regain full use of both limbs. It will, however, take time and careful management before he’s back up on both feet again. It will be a substantial process and you should both be aware of that.”  
  
Kurt nods, a little frantically, and clutches Blaine’s hand tighter, trying not to look too closely at the thick casts covering Blaine’s left arm and leg. He barely hears the rest of Dr Singer’s words, something about medication and morphine, and eventually she leaves, patting his shoulder gently. Kurt feels his eyes glaze over with tears as Blaine’s fingers squeeze lightly at his own.   
  
“Oh,  _Blaine_ ,” he sighs. “I can’t believe this. I have to call so many people. I’ve left everyone voice mails but I had to have my phone turned off for most of the time inside the hospital. I didn’t want to leave. I love you.”  
  
Blaine murmurs something indistinct, his eyes still mostly closed. Kurt rubs his knuckles with his thumb.   
  
“Mr Hummel?”  
  
It’s Dr Singer again. She’s standing in the doorway, her face concerned in a way he hadn’t seen earlier. His heart races immediately. Something’s wrong.   
  
“There’s–, well,” she says and then pauses. Starts again. “The other person in the crash–, I thought he was in the other car. It appears that he was Mr Anderson’s passenger.”  
  
Kurt’s breath hitches. He thinks suddenly, with a dreadful clarity, of the voicemails he left. The ones he still hasn’t had a chance to follow up on, wracked with worry after the call came about Blaine’s accident.    
  
“I don’t know his name, I’m sorry. He was unconscious when he came in.” Again, Dr Singer pauses, and this time Kurt knows what she’s going to say.   
  
“Do you know a Mr Sebastian Smythe?” she asks, her voice unsure and cautious.   
  
Kurt’s stomach drops. Or maybe his heart drops into his stomach. It’s like a brick has settled there, weighing him down into the ground until he feels like his ankles are going to shatter with the extra pressure.   
  
He nods, once. Thinks of Sebastian’s answering message, happily telling Kurt he couldn’t answer the phone, “even for sex, although please feel free to leave a dirty message”. He thinks of Sebastian’s scoffed response when Kurt tried to make him change it, shrilly arguing that his _father_  might ring that phone. Thinks of Sebastian as he’d left their apartment that morning in a suit, ready for an interview at a different university. Thinks of why he would end up in the car with Blaine, what the two of them would be doing, why didn’t they  _tell_  him.    
  
“Uh, yes. Yes, I do,” he chokes out. “He’s my–, um…,” he trails off, uncertain how to explain something that isn’t legally recognised. So far, they’ve barely recognised Blaine as his legal partner without a marriage certificate.   
  
Dr Singer licks her lips nervously, seemingly aware that their relationship is perhaps stronger than she had assumed. “Unfortunately, Mr Hummel, Mr Smythe’s injuries were very severe. We did everything we could, but the damage was significant and we were unable to stabilise him.”  
  
Kurt’s hand is gripping Blaine’s so tightly that Blaine whines, still doped out on medication and not there, not enough to help, and Kurt’s eyes are blurry and he puts his head between his knees.   
  
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr Hummel,” she says. “Please come and speak to me if you have any questions.”  
  
She backs out of the room but Kurt can’t even spare her a glance as he starts hyperventilating, clutching Blaine’s hand in his and wondering wildly how everything in his life had gone so wrong.


	13. Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #3 prompt (Darren + Kevin - ridiculous crack, PG)
> 
> ~ 380 words

 

Darren rubbed his hands over his eyes and yawned loudly.   
  
“That’s it,” he said. “I’m finished. This sucker is done.”  
  
Kevin perked up from where he was slumped on the couch. “Really, dude?” He came over to the computer and peered over Darren’s shoulder.   
  
“Did you want me to read it before you post?” he asked, eyes already skimming the page. Darren just sort of groaned and stretched his back out, both guys wincing slightly at the popping sound. “I don’t care anymore,” Darren whined. “It destroyed me. 15 000 words is probably longer than my college essays put together.”   
  
“Okay, I’m sure it’s fine,” Kevin said soothingly. He whipped out his cell phone. “Just start posting it, man. That’ll still take a while. You should just sign up already.”  
  
Darren started the slow process of copying and pasting, making sure he used his html codes correctly. This was such a pain.   
  
“Nah, anon is way more fun. I could be anyone.”  
  
“Hey,” Kevin was saying behind him. “Yeah, Darren’s about to publish his latest. Anon, of course. I’ll send you the link. It’s a good one. Very porny.”  
  
Darren snorted.   
  
“Yeah I know; he’s surprisingly knowledgeable about gay sex.”  
  
“I’m equal opportunity!” Darren said to Kevin’s back.   
  
“Listen, now it’s your turn. I vote for McGustin!”   
  
Darren could vaguely make out Grant’s laughter through the speaker.   
  
“Serious! I saw a hilarious prompt about us. I’ll send that too.”  
  
Grant murmured something incomprehensible. Darren kept copying and pasting, copying and pasting. By the time he was finished, people had already started commenting on some of the earlier sections.   
  
 _OMG this is adorable!_  
  
 _Blaine seems a little OOC._  
  
 _Awww, yay! These boys are lovely._  
  
 _F5, F5!!!!!!_  
  
Darren frowned and typed OOC into the urban dictionary.  _Out of Character_. What the fuck? He _was_  Blaine. He was halfway through an indignant response citing the reasons behind Blaine’s development when he realised he’d accidentally included still unconfirmed details from season 4.   
  
“Of course there should be sex!” Kevin exclaimed. “I mean,  _look at us_. It would be magnificent.”  
  
Darren sighed and backspaced like a ninja. Eventually he just typed:  _Thanks for your feedback_. Jesus, now he knew how Ryan felt.   
  
“Fuck you, clearly I’d top,” Kevin said and Darren couldn’t help but laugh.


	14. Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #4 agony (Kurt/Sebastian, PG - for swearing)
> 
> ~1600 words

 

Kurt heard the  _ding!_  and dashed across the foyer, sliding inside the elevator just as the doors started to close. He hit the button for level 30, took a deep breath and was just reaching up a hand to check his hair when he heard a familiar voice.   
  
“Well, well, well,” Sebastian Smythe said. Kurt spun around and pressed his back up against the wall, eyes widening in horror when he recognised the raised eyebrow and superior smirk of his high school enemy.   
  
“Kurt Hummel, as I live and breathe,” he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. “Surprised you’d even know where this part of town is.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes, the gesture familiar even after all these years. “Yeah, like you’re the only person possibly succeeding in New York City.”  
  
“I am surprised baby gay made it all the way here,” Sebastian admitted. His eyes roamed freely over Kurt’s outfit, and he bit his cheek to stem his blush.   
  
“I’m surprised you managed to lose daddy’s coattails,” Kurt snarked. God, what was it about this man that sent him spiralling back into his teenaged self? He eyed the numbers above the door and sighed audibly. 27, 28…  
  
“So where’s your better half then? Scrubbing the floors while you bring home the bacon?” Sebastian asked, and even now Kurt couldn’t help the way he bristled in response to Sebastian’s honeyed voice asking about Blaine.   
  
“None of your business,” he replied through gritted teeth.   
  
“Oh dear. Don’t tell me you two split up?” Sebastian’s lips widened into a lazy grin and Kurt tried to hold off punching him in the face. “Poor, lonely Hummel.”   
  
“At least I don’t crack on to other guy’s boyfriends,” Kurt replied.   
  
“At least I’m getting laid on a regular basis,” Sebastian said with such an obvious once over that Kurt forced himself not to shiver. “The stick up your ass suggests you’re not.”  
  
“At least I don’t have to beg guys to fuck me,” Kurt spat out and  _jesus_ , this was not the way to defuse the situation. “Or do you just hang out in clubs until they’re too drunk to say no?”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to reply when he was interrupted by a loud bang and the sound of an alarm. Kurt looked to the controls (weren’t they nearly there?), but they were blank – a second later, the lights went out and the lift started falling. It was too fast, obviously too fast, and Kurt pressed his palms flat against the wall and tried not to focus on the sensation of his stomach moving up into his throat. They were hurtling down the elevator shaft and Kurt realised he didn’t even have time to panic. He caught Sebastian’s gaze and the pair had a moment to share a look before Kurt shouted “jump!”.   
  
He grabbed Sebastian’s arm and jumped into the air, pulling the other man with him, just before the lift hit the ground with an enormous crash. The floor buckled underneath them and the ceiling panels folded inwards. Kurt landed roughly, catching his balance against the side wall. He looked over to Sebastian, realising too late that he hadn’t managed to lift Sebastian enough. He was on his knees on the floor of the elevator, one hand bracing himself, and Kurt thought he could hear a low moan.   
  
“Sebastian,” Kurt said, immediately getting down to his level. “Where are you hurt?”   
  
Sebastian met his eyes then and Kurt clenched his teeth at the expression on his face. He was clearly in significant amounts of pain.   
  
“My ankle,” he panted out. “Broken, I think.  _Fuck_.”  
  
Kurt grabbed his arms and gently lowered him down so he was sitting, his back up against the wall, legs spread out in front. The ankle was definitely broken, the skin bruised and discoloured, and distorted like the bones weren’t where they were supposed to be. Kurt breathed in deeply, once, twice, and then forced his panic down to pit of his stomach.   
  
“Right,” he said. He did a quick mental catalogue and aside from a few painful twinges, he seemed to be okay. “Anything else hurt?” he asked, but Sebastian shook his head.   
  
Next step. Kurt reached immediately for the elevator phone, sighing in relief when he got a signal.   
  
“Yes, hi–, we’re stuck…” Kurt had never felt so grateful for automated systems as in that moment. By the time he was speaking to an operator, they already had dispatched rescue personnel to get them out and an ambulance to help Sebastian.   
  
“It’ll be an hour tops, they think,” he told Sebastian. Then he sank down to the ground next to him and let his head loll back against the mirrored wall.   
  
“You okay?” he asked without moving his head.   
  
Sebastian choked out a laugh. “I’m stuck in an elevator with a probably broken ankle and my least favourite person. I’m just swell, thanks.”  
  
Kurt couldn’t help but grin a little.   
  
“Gosh, your  _least_  favourite? I made quite the impression then.” He fluttered his eyelashes ridiculously. “I’ve been told I’m  _unforgettable_.”  
  
Sebastian looked him dead on and then snorted, and that’s all it took for Kurt to lose it.   
  
“Ahh, fuck,” Sebastian said, half laughing, half groaning. “Stop it, ooooww.” He flailed about a bit awkwardly, and Kurt grabbed his hand before he could do something stupid like grab at his broken bone. Sebastian’s palm was a little damp in his, such an incongruity to his smoothly pressed suit.   
  
“I’m sorry about that comment,” Kurt said, drawing in a deep breath. “That was out of line.”  
  
Sebastian grinned, although it came out as more of a grimace. “An apology? Never thought I’d see the day.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yeah, don’t get it used to it.”  
  
He watched as Sebastian’s eyes closed briefly, his face contorted while he tried to shift to a more comfortable position.   
  
“It’s all right,” Sebastian said, voice smaller and rougher than Kurt was used to hearing it. “You’re not completely off base anyway.”  
  
Kurt forced himself not to think of a long ago night where he’d watched Sebastian hit on Blaine and ply him with alcohol. He tried not to think of this older, leaner, looser Sebastian – surprisingly attractive Sebastian out of his Dalton uniform – on a dance floor at all.   
  
“What were you doing here anyway?” Kurt asked, deciding instead of a policy of distraction.    
  
Sebastian’s breathing was back under more control now, although he was still clearly in pain, his pupils particularly dilated.   
  
“Job interview.”  
  
Kurt’s head snapped around. “Really?” he asked. “Me too.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.”  
  
Kurt frowned.  _Um, what now_? “What now?” Sebastian would be unable to avoid hearing the chill creeping into his voice. “It was for a fashion designer assistant position.”   
  
“You think you’ve got a monopoly on gay guys that know fashion?” Sebastian asked wryly.   
  
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “You wear polo shirts,” he said scathingly. “I remember.”  
  
Sebastian frowned for a second and then started smiling, as if he couldn’t help it. “Yeah,” he laughed. “To a gay bar in  _Lima_. Back then I just needed something easy to get out of, if you know what I mean.”  
  
Kurt suddenly felt seventeen again. He bit his lip and averted his eyes and tried not to look like he was sulking.   
  
“Ohh, shy little Hummel,” Sebastian laughed. “I know the Dalton uniforms were unflattering, but they weren’t the only thing in my closet back then.” Then he looked down at his ankle and attempted to shift slightly. Kurt tried to ignore the way his teeth clenched, unable to completely stop the groan from escaping.  
  
“It’s a shame, though,” he breathed. “I don’t think it’s going to be easy to get blood out of this suit, unfortunately.”  
  
Kurt took the distraction and let himself look at the fine detail of Sebastian’s suit, even visible around the stained section at his ankle. It was  _nice_ , he had to admit. It was fitted well with neat cuffs, two buttons with slim lapels. The subtle lines brought out the shape of the waistcoat underneath. It was glamorous but understated, things he didn’t think Sebastian would have the first idea about. It was obviously tailored, clearly expensive. In fact–  
  
“Is that–” Kurt asked, eyes widening.   
  
“YSL?” they said in unison.  
  
“Oh my  _god_ ,” Kurt breathed. Without him realising, one of his hands had reached out to run along Sebastian’s sleeve. The material was  _lovely_  under his fingers.    
  
“Well, at least we both missed the interview,” Kurt said, almost unconsciously.    
  
“Worried you’d lose?”   
  
He caught Sebastian’s eye with a grin, unconcerned his hand was still wrapped around the other man’s arm. “Worried it would be too easy.”  
  
Sebastian’s chuckle was interrupted by the sound of shouting and the noise of a couple of firemen prising open the doors. Kurt pulled his hand away and dropped his gaze immediately.   
  
“Rescue at last,” Sebastian said, sounding surprisingly wistful.   
  
“Still your least favourite person to be stuck in an elevator with?” Kurt asked, letting his eyes trail over that suit, and the body in it, just one last time.  
  
Sebastian’s mouth quirked up a bit at that. “Nah. You’re still top five though.”   
  
Kurt saw Sebastian off into the ambulance when they emerged out into the foyer. He made a quick call to the girl upstairs (no way he was going back in an elevator today) and asked for a new interview time, and if he mentioned Sebastian while he was at it, he just wanted to make sure he had the proper competition. He wouldn’t want to win without knowing he’d fought against the best.   
  
And a week later, when he got a friend request on Facebook from Sebastian Smythe – complete with a profile picture of  _that suit_  and a personalised message saying he’d manage to remove the blood, although it didn’t look as nice over his cast – well, he didn’t hesitate to click accept.


	15. Illegal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5 illegal (Blaine/Sebastian, M)
> 
> Warnings: some poorly written violence, unbeta’d
> 
> ~1600 words

 

Blaine fished his cell phone out of his suit pocket awkwardly, his other hand full with a bag of groceries. He sighed when he saw the caller ID.   
  
“No, Jackson, I’m not working,” he said as soon as he answered.   
  
“Come on, Blaine,” Jackson wheedled, “you’ll love this one. Looks like forgery. We think there’s a plan to steal the originals and sell the forgeries.”  
  
Blaine gritted his teeth together, regretting the day he’d ever mentioned his fondness for art galleries around work.   
  
“That is the usual procedure for forgery,” he said. “But I don’t care. I’m not working. I’ve just bought enough food to cook something for dinner, I’m depositing my hard earned bonus check for seven weeks of overtime, and I’m sleeping for four days. I’m not back until Wednesday and you will just have to deal with it.”  
  
Jackson sighed loudly, but Blaine could hear the fondness in it. “All right, all right!” he said. “Go take your time off. Jesus, you catch a criminal and suddenly you want a holiday.”  
  
Blaine laughed. “Greedy, I know–”  
  
Just then, there was the sound of three gunshots and immediately everyone in the bank starting screaming. Blaine dove to the floor out of reflex, cursing when he dropped his phone and held onto his groceries instead of the other way around.   
  
“Listen up!” a voice called, and Blaine didn’t need to look to see it belonged to the guy holding the gun. Still, he craned his neck around, trying to see over his shoulder until he could make out three men, all in black with balaclavas over their faces. They were holding two guns each, small handhelds, the type that suggested confidence and a good shot. Blaine shifted a little, wishing he hadn’t left his gun in the car when he’d stopped off. He didn’t like weapons and only carried them on the job because of necessity. This, however, appeared to be a necessity.    
  
“This, my friends, is a robbery,” said the leader. He was tall, surprisingly slender for a thug, but obscenely confident. This looked like a well rehearsed gig. “I’ll need everyone on the floor and if anyone makes a move, I will not hesitate to shoot you through the head.”  
  
Someone screamed, and the leader just grinned, his mouth clearly visible through the hole in the balaclava.   
  
Blaine kept quiet and steady on the floor, trying to take in as many details as he could. He made a shusshing gesture at the woman next to him, who couldn’t seem to stop herself from making little whimpering noises. Blaine kept his eye on the leader, mind working furiously. This was a big bank. They’d be trying to get to the vault out the back after emptying all the tills presumably. He needed to stop that from happening.   
  
Unfortunately, he was one guy with no guns. They were three guys with at least six guns between them. His odds weren’t fantastic.   
  
The guy behind him made a funny groaning noise, interrupting Blaine’s mental planning. He turned his head to try and quiet him, but it was too late: the man burst into sharp, wracking coughs. It was loud,  _so_  loud in the silence of the bank, the noise reverberating easily.   
  
“Hey,” the leader crooned, walking over to where they were standing and placing a foot on the man’s back. The pressure obviously didn’t help as the man started wheezing uncomfortably, still coughing, face turning redder with every passing second.   
  
“I need you to stop that now,” the leader said. He pressed down harder with his foot. “I’d hate to have to shoot you.”  
  
The man kept coughing, clearly unable to stop, his face crumpling, and now the noises were closer to sobs.   
  
“He can’t stop,” Blaine said before he could stop himself. “He can’t breathe.”  
  
The leader snapped his gaze over to Blaine’s, his eyes trailing rather obviously over his back and Blaine hoped he wouldn’t be able to see the outline of his empty shoulder holster.   
  
“And what do we have here?” the leader said, slowly lifting his foot and coming to stand directly in front of Blaine, his boots filling up his vision. He felt the man shift and had to fight not to flinch when the man draped a hand casually over his back. The gentle touch didn’t disguise the fact he was looking for a weapon. Blaine tried valiantly to ignore the fact this was the closest he had gotten to getting laid in a  _long_   _time_.   
  
“Clean,” the man murmured. “And yet, you seem to the sort of officious sort of man who might work for the police.”  
  
He tapped the gun towards Blaine’s temple and gestured for him to turn over.   
  
Blaine bit his lip, trying to gauge where the other men were. Maybe if he could grab the gun–?  
  
The man chuckled. “Now now,” he said, in a creamy voice that was definitely  _not_  anything like the sort of voice Blaine liked. “No thinking of disarming me. Just roll over, please.”  
  
Blaine sighed and gingerly turned onto his side. As he did so his suit jacket fell open and from this angle he could see the way the man’s gaze overtly lingered over his chest and shoulders. Then, he was reaching out and fingering the empty holster before slipping further until his hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge.   
  
“FBI,” the man said, his tone not even wavering although Blaine could see the way his eyes brightened. “How exciting.”  
  
He flipped it open and Blaine had to bite his lip to stop from saying something incredibly unhelpful.  _They’ll get you. Don’t hurt anyone. Take off your mask. I like your eyes. Let’s fuck._    
  
“Mr Anderson. Blaine Anderson.”  
  
The man shifted fractionally then, enough to grasp Blaine’s hand in his. “It’s a pleasure, Blaine. I’m Sebastian.”  
  
Blaine’s eyes widened. “Sebastian  _Smythe_?” he asked. “The counterfeiter?”   
  
Sebastian grinned, not unpleasantly, almost as if he was proud to be recognised. “The one and only,” he said.   
  
“Aren’t you worried I’ll identify you?” Blaine asked, trying not to look closer when Sebastian licked his lips.   
  
Sebastian just grinned toothily.   
  
“No,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”  
  
And with that, he dragged Blaine to his feet, gun pressed to his temple. The other two men fell into step behind him, briefcases in one hand. Blaine tried to see where the other guns had gone.   
  
“Now now,” Sebastian said, sliding the gun under his chin and pointing is straight up. Blaine shivered, registering the inherent strength in Sebastian’s grip and the obvious intent. He might be pretty, but he was certainly serious.   
  
“I want no fuss,” he said. He gestured with his other hand and the other two men awkwardly gathered up a hostage each. “There will be police outside. Blaine’s buddy here was still on the line when we came in. Unfortunate, but not insurmountable. Push through to the vehicle and drop the girls.”  
  
The other two men nodded, although they looked nervous. Blaine suspected they were here for money not loyalty. Blaine twitched in Sebastian’s grasp. “You’ll never get past,” he said, hoping to inspire despair. Paid thugs didn’t like challenges. “They’re trained for this. You’re not.”  
  
Sebastian ignored him; the other two exchanged a look.   
  
And then they were rushing the doors. Blaine tried to keep his body calm, tried to find his training. He focused on the details instead, counted the number of cars, the number of weapons, the number of steps he took in Sebastian’s arms.   
  
It was a mess, the police holding their fire while the hostages were there, and Blaine knew it was going to be all over if he didn’t do  _something_. And he didn’t want to let this man out of his sight.   
  
Because he was a  _criminal_ , obviously.   
  
So, he waited until Sebastian took his eyes off him to gesture something to the other men. The men were too slow in responding, clearly uneasy. Sebastian growled at them again. This was his moment. Blaine took a deep breath and then launched himself up, head butting Sebastian viciously, grimacing at the sound of his nose breaking. When Sebastian’s arms spasmed in response to the pain, he reversed their grip so he could flip Sebastian over in front of him and pin him to the ground. He had one knee to his throat and the other on one hand, ignoring the gun pointed at his face.   
  
“Leave it, Mr Smythe,” he said lowly. “You’re outnumbered.”  
  
He looked around, taking in the number of weapons on them.   
  
“And it appears,” he said with just a hint of a smile, “that your paid help has let you down.” He watched the hostages return to the safety of the barrier, police swarming over the two goons who were quickly lowering their guns.   
  
“Fuck,” Sebastian said and let his hand drop. Blaine scooped up the gun and immediately pulled the clip out. Then, he let himself reach up and peel off the balaclava, exposing Sebastian’s sharp cheekbones, high forehead, and giving him some context to those eyes and mouth.   
  
“Lovely to meet you properly, Mr Smythe,” he said, not letting even the slightest weight shift off the other man’s body.   
  
“The pleasure is all mine,” Sebastian gritted out between his teeth. “Believe me.”  
  
“Oh no,” Blaine said happily. “I’m a big fan of your work. I wrote my dissertation on you.”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “ _You_!” he said. “You’re the cop that pulled all that stuff together?”   
  
Blaine nodded. “I had a bit of time to kill as a student,” he said modestly. It had been worth it, for the 98 he scored. And so what if he had always wanted to know exactly what Sebastian Smythe – famous counterfeiter and forger – looked like? It wasn’t like he was obsessed. And really, the man was  _talented_. And apparently gorgeous.   
  
“You’re the reason they have any warrant to arrest me at all,” Sebastian said, a frown between his eyes. “You linked me to the Canadian dollars thing back in 2010.”  
  
“You mean when you printed twenty five thousand $500 Canadian bills?” Blaine asked. “Yes, that was you.”  
  
Sebastian frowned even more. “I’m not confessing to anything.”  
  
Blaine laughed then, and committed his facial features to memory for some private time later. “You won’t need to,” he said. “You just got caught trying to rob a bank.”  
  
Sebastian closed his eyes and Blaine felt the tension just bleed out of his body underneath him.   
  
“I guess I’ll see you at the station then,” he said and Blaine grinned. Suddenly his holiday didn’t seem so important.


	16. Telephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #6 - telephone (crisscolfer established relationship, fluff), PG  
> ~1550 words
> 
> This one also fills a prompt from Alana.

 

Darren looks at the mess around him and sighs. He knew that moving would be hideous. Really, he did. He just hadn’t quite expected this.   
  
It didn’t help that he is moving their stuff alone. Chris tried valiantly to get even just the weekend off from his film shoot over on the east coast, but it hadn’t panned out. They’d missed a few days of shooting thanks to wild weather and there was no way he could fly back. Darren had laughed and insisted it was fine – after all, he had a bunch of burly…, well, strong _enough_  friends to help out. And they’d already done a lot of the packing before now.

Still, Darren thinks it would have certainly made it more fun if Chris was here as well.   
  
He’s down to the last few boxes of his bedroom. The place they’re moving into is bigger than his current place, even with Joey and Evanna. It’s gorgeous: open plan with polished floors, an enormous courtyard, and something like five bedrooms. It’s ridiculously big for just the two of them, and quite unnecessary considering how much time they spend away on sets, but they both had fallen in love with it.   
  
So that was that. They’d signed the lease, set a date, and started packing. Darren can’t wait to get set up – they’ve dedicated a room to be his studio, and he’s getting in someone to soundproof it professionally. Chris has a separate study down the other end of the house, away from the noise, and then their bedroom – or, as Darren likes to call it while waggling his eyebrows, the  _boudoir_  – is upstairs.   
  
Darren’s quite keen to test out  _that_  room as well. Chris insisted they take his bed, and honestly, Darren would pretty much go along with anything Chris wanted if it meant he’d sleep next to him at night.   
  
And now, here he was, packing the last of his collectibles (not  _toys_ , thank you very much) into sturdy boxes that would go into the moving truck tomorrow. Joey left him after lunch, begged off after Darren started going through his wardrobe.   
  
Okay, so Darren rarely throws out any clothes. And  _some_  people think he has too much. But everything still fits! Maybe he’d want to wear something again? Choice is healthy. And good for the soul.   
  
Joey had shouted, “Why do you need a wardrobe full of clothes when all you wear is Michigan shirts?” and stormed out in a huff. Darren didn’t think his anger was really necessary, although he did admit (privately, to himself), that maybe 35 different University of Michigan shirts was a touch too many.   
  
He’s just throwing the last items in carelessly now; his motivation for wrapping disappearing this close to the end. He thinks wearily of having to unpack it all at the other end, and vows to keep booze and speakers in easy access for tomorrow. How did he accumulate so much stuff? He wishes, again, that Chris were here – he has a knack for working out what to keep and what to throw away Ruthless, but efficient.   
  
Just then, his phone rings. He can hear it buzzing loudly somewhere in the room, his ringtone barely audible. He eyes the pile of clothes warily and shuffles around the base of it, trying to pinpoint the noise. He’s so close, arm buried amongst his vast selection of band t-shirts, when it stops.   
  
“Shit,” he murmurs, and thrusts his arm in a little further. The phone starts ringing again, just as Darren’s finger grazes the plastic case and he grabs it and rips his arm out, wincing as the pile of clothes slowly slumps sideways.   
  
“Hello?” he says, a little out of breath. He didn’t even get a chance to check caller ID. God, he hopes it isn’t his agent. Or Lea. She’s exhausting.   
  
“Hey.” Chris voice is warm in his ear, smooth and deep the way it goes when he’s had a long shooting day. It’s slower than usual and Darren loves hearing it, loves picking up every syllable that comes out of his mouth.   
  
“Hey yourself,” he says, delighted. “I thought you’d still be shooting!”   
  
Chris smiles down the phone at him – Darren can tell, he’s heard it before. “Mmm, got an early mark.”  
  
Darren flops down onto the ground and collapses back against the pile of clothes. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and he lets his head fall backward so he isn’t supporting himself at all. It’s blissful, after a long day of packing and physical labour and the promise of more to come.   
  
“I missed you,” Darren says, aware he sounds like a child but unable to care. “I could have used your packing expertise today.”  
  
Chris chuckles, the sound low in Darren’s ear. “Good to see you’re admitting my superiority.”  
  
“In this,” Darren says. “Not in everything. We all know I’m the better dancer.”  
  
“And song writer.”  
  
“And novelist.”  
  
“Hey!”   
  
Darren laughs at the mock indignation in Chris’ voice. He loves teasing him; he particularly likes to take screenshots of internet headlines and send them along with commentary.  _This one says you’re the most talented 21 year old the world has ever seen. Lucky you’re mine._    
  
“How’s the shoot?” he asks, and then closes his eyes and lets the familiarity of Chris’ voice wash over him.   
  
“Darren?” Chris says sharply, and he jumps, realising he’s nearly dozed off while Chris has been talking.   
  
“Jesus, sorry,” Darren says with a laugh. “I’m a bit out of it tonight.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Chris says soothingly. “I bet you’re tired.”  
  
“Fucking exhausted,” Darren admits. “I can’t wait to get into the place tomorrow just so I can sleep until you come home.”  
  
“I expect the whole house unpacked. You’ll have to wait for your nap,” Chris says primly, and Darren groans even though he can hear the teasing tone of his voice.   
  
“I miss you,” he says heavily, and swallows around the lump in his throat. “I wish you were here.”  
  
“Oh baby,” Chris whispers. “I know.”   
  
There’s a noise on the other end of the line, like a car door, and Darren realises there’s been a gentle hum through the phone since Chris rang.   
  
“Darren?”   
  
Darren shakes his head and pushes himself up from the pile of clothes. It wouldn’t do to get too comfortable again. “Yep, I’m here,” he says.   
  
“Okay, you should go to the front door.”  
  
Darren blinks. “Why?”   
  
“I organised a surprise for you.”  
  
Darren chuckles. “Yeah right,” he says. “Come on, I’m tired. Don’t make me move.”  
  
“No, really!” Chris says, and his voice is high in the way Darren finds incredibly adorable. “I know I make a lot of jokes, but I mean it. There’s really a surprise for you.”  
  
Darren switches the phone to his other ear and heaves himself off the ground. “This better be good, Colfer,” he growls. “I was comfortable.”  
  
“I think you’ll like it,” Chris says, and his voice is excited now, breathless, and Darren can’t stop the grin on his face. Whatever it is, if Chris got it for him, he knows he’ll like it.   
  
“Okay, I’m at the door,” he says, and there’s a funny noise on the other end of the phone.   
  
“Open up,” Chris says and it sounds strange, almost like an echo, but Darren is opening the door and–  
  
And Chris is standing there on the doorstep, a suitcase at his feet, and his coat buttoned up. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed, and he has an enormous grin on his face. Darren’s wrapping him in his arms before he can realise what he’s doing, lifting him up so his feet come off the ground. He soaks in the feel of him in his arms, the weight against him, the press of his nose in his neck.   
  
“Oh my god.  _Chris_ ,” he says, muffled into Chris’ shoulder. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Chris slides a hand over Darren’s back, just the way he likes it, and Darren tries not to shudder like a puppy at the touch. God, he’s missed this.   
  
“I didn’t want you to move into our place on your own,” Chris says, and pulls back so he can stroke Darren’s cheek with his thumb. He’s looking directly in his eyes now, and Darren feels dazed.   
  
“It’s a first for us. We should do it together,” Chris says, and his voice is soft and his thumb is hot against Darren’s skin, and he’s  _here_.   
  
Darren blinks, feels the welling in his eyes that signifies he’s about to lose his shit. He gulps in a big breath and buries himself back into Chris’ embrace.   
  
He’ll pull Chris inside soon, and they can order take out and snuggle on the couch. Later, Chris will bear Darren roughly down onto his bed, the last night they’ll have in Darren’s crappy double from his parents’ house. They’ll fall asleep linked together, arms and legs intertwined in the way Darren always thought was uncomfortable and lame until it happened to him. And then tomorrow they’ll step inside  _their_  place together for their first time.   
  
Darren breathes in Chris’ scent, noses into the skin underneath his jaw, and thinks that this is what happiness feels like. Tomorrow he’s going to write a song.


	17. Swimsuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #7 - swimsuits (Seblaine first meeting AU), ~1000 words. For Rykerstrom.

 

The summer after senior year, Blaine takes a holiday to the coast. Nick and Jeff come with him, and another couple of guys from the Warblers, and they decide to drive to California. They swing it past their parents with the promise of looking into some universities along the way, but basically it’s a trip to spend their last time together before college at the beach.   
  
They take their time driving, sharing the load between them and pumping out some amazing harmonies along the way. Cooper rings on the second day and asks what time to expect them, because he might have company – or, as Cooper describes it, “I’ll probably be getting to know the cute extra from today’s shoot” – so he’ll need a heads up. Unless they’d like a show, in which case, arrive before 4. Blaine shudders when he tells the others, and tries to ignore the way Jeff’s eyes glow briefly with curiosity.   
  
Unfortunately for Blaine, they pull into the city at 2pm. It’s still far too early for Cooper to be finished, let alone clothed, so they decide to head straight to the beach. It’s a little further, but the sun is shining and their swimsuits are within easy reach.   
  
Blaine runs straight for the water when they arrive. It’s been a long drive and he can feel the stickiness of sweat on his body, the slightly stale feeling of his hair gel. He dives underwater, nearly brains himself attempting a somersault, and then kicks his feet up until they break the surface. It’s  _heaven_. He can feel the sun on his skin and he loves squinting into the bright light to make out the shape of his friends, galloping into the ocean behind him.   
  
“This is the life,” he says contentedly. Jeff nearly moans his agreement.   
  
“I never want to put a shirt back on,” Nick says.   
  
Jeff snorts, then coughs when he breathes in a lungful of salt water. “Please do,” he chokes out.   
  
Suddenly there’s a disturbance next to them. A young guy is flailing in the water, splashing his arms about awkwardly. Blaine watches in horror as he slips under. Can he not swim? The guy thrashes a little, almost breaks the surface, and Blaine’s seen enough. He strokes over quickly, feeling the water part as he glides through it. It’s barely a minute before he reaches the guy. Up close he can see how he isn’t that old – maybe not much older than Blaine. He’s wearing red boardshorts and is, well, kind of attractive.   
  
Blaine chastises himself for checking out a drowning man, and then dives under the water. He wraps his arms quickly around the guy’s chest, definitely  _not_  taking note of his smooth and toned skin underneath his fingers. He’s certainly fit. Blaine can’t ignore that.   
  
It takes quite a bit of effort to break the surface again and Blaine realises the guy is substantially taller than him. He gasps a few deep breaths and is relieved to hear his companion do the same.   
  
“Are you alr–,”   
  
Blaine can’t finish his sentence because the guy has spun around in his arms, grabbed his face between his hands, and planted a kiss on his open mouth.   
  
It’s wet, and tastes like salt water and sunshine, and Blaine nearly slips back under the water before he catches himself and then he lets his tongue move against the guy’s, lets his hands curl over his shoulders and reach down his tanned and firm back. It’s wonderful, really, the best kiss Blaine’s ever had, and the guy’s a  _stranger_ – oh. Yes. The guy’s a stranger. That’s right. Blaine pulls back quickly, although he feels his stomach tighten at the way the guy chases after his mouth for a moment.    
  
“Um, that’s really not necessary,” Blaine says awkwardly. “You just looked like you were in trouble.”  
  
“I’m Sebastian,” the guy says, a big grin on his face. “Thanks  _ever_  so much for saving me.”  
  
His tone is off, Blaine thinks. He knows it, but mostly his brain is addled from the best kiss of his very short kissing history.   
  
Sebastian is holding out his hand, so he shakes it as best as he can in the water and says, “My name’s Blaine.”  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Sebastian says. “Can I buy you a drink later? You saved my life.”  
  
“Oh,” Blaine says. “I’m not…, I mean, I’m 19.”  
  
Sebastian blinks twice. His gaze rakes over Blaine’s exposed shoulders, dips down to Blaine’s chest below the surface.   
  
“Oh,” Sebastian says, with an obvious smirk. “That doesn’t matter around here.”   
  
Blaine makes a face. “Um, that’s just not really my scene.”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes narrow a little then, so Blaine hastens to say, “Thank you, though. I’m sure you’re lovely.”  
  
Distantly, he realises he can hear Jeff snorting again over his shoulder and he vows to tackle him onto the sand later.   
  
Sebastian’s grin is back, wide and bright, and he looks the image of the Californian boy right now. Blaine can’t stop his eyes dropping to his lips, and then lower, where the water can’t totally obscure his abs and his trim hips. When he looks back up, Sebastian’s watching him with darkened eyes.   
  
“Well Blaine,” he says, “I’m not known for being lovely. But I’ll be here again tomorrow if you wanted to keep making excuses when I try to ask you out.”  
  
Blaine feels himself flush.   
  
“Okay,” he says stupidly. “I mean, we just arrived here, but–, uhh, sure.”  
  
 _Jesus_ , he’s useless at this. He manages a stupid wave and then hightails it back to where Jeff and Nick are nearly drowning themselves because they’re laughing too hard to tread water. He splashes them both without mercy.   
  
“You’re  _lovely_ ,” Nick mocks.   
  
“Oh, fuck off,” Blaine says good naturedly.   
  
As good as the water feels, it can’t override the fact that they feel travel worn and hungry. They slowly make their way back to the beach and clomp through the dry sand, trying not to kick it all over someone’s towel. They pass the lifeguard tower as they head towards the parking lot, and suddenly Nick is laughing himself silly all over again.   
  
“What?” Blaine asks.   
  
Nick just points up to the tower. Sebastian’s standing up there with another guy, red boardshorts – no,  _lifeguard_  uniform – clear to see. He spots Blaine and waves.   
  
“Thanks for the kiss!” he shouts.   
  
Blaine flushes to his ears and looks down at the sand.   
  
“Come back tomorrow,” Sebastian calls down. “Maybe I can save you next time.”  
  
His buddy laughs next to him, and Sebastian flexes his arms ridiculously. Blaine can’t help cracking a grin. Looks like he has plans for tomorrow now. He’ll be able to work on his tan.


	18. Decent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #8 decent (Kurt + Rachel/Brody in NYC, post 4x04)
> 
> ~500 words

 

Kurt shuts off the water of the shower with a sigh. He’d love to stay in there all day if he could, but Isabelle has him working late tonight and if he wants to last he has to stop at his cafe on the way for a caffeine boost. Monday-itis is the  _worst_.   
  
Their bathroom is, well, small. There’s a crack in the wall over the sink and it’s as far from the comforts of home as Kurt can imagine. But it’s theirs and it does the job. It means that Kurt never stays long in the bathroom though, preferring to do everything he can in his partitioned space.   
  
He wraps a towel firmly around his waist, grabs his discarded clothes, and makes a dash out the door. They’ve sorted out a routine by now, and Kurt’s about 95% sure that Rachel has a class early on Mondays but the first few weeks were scarring enough. He loves Rachel like a sister, which is reason enough to avoid seeing her naked. Or to be  _seen_  naked. He’s learnt never to be lax about towel placement, and re-learnt that Rachel’s screams can start dogs barking over a block away.   
  
And that he never wants her to weigh in on his “new muscle definition” because it’s frankly terrifying.   
  
It is therefore a complete shock when Kurt runs directly into someone when he steps through the door, falling in an embarrassing heap to the ground  _on top of them_.   
  
“Oh my  _god_ ,” Kurt breathes, and then snaps his eyes to the ceiling – as well as he can when he’s lying stretched out on top of a mostly naked Brody. While he’s mostly naked himself.   
  
“Hey Kurt,” Brody says, and of course he’s just smiling like this is how he often spends Monday mornings.  
  
“Brody,” Kurt says, hand groping for his towel to check its position, “what are you doing here?”   
  
Brody chuckles then, in that warm way he has that Kurt secretly loves. “Uhh, I think you can probably guess,” he says.   
  
Kurt tries very hard to ignore the flush that immediately heats his cheeks.   
  
“You do realise there are no actual walls here, don’t you?” he says snarkily, and maneuvers himself off the chest of his best friend’s… friend. He resolutely does not look at the acres of skin Brody’s showing or the way he fits his tiny boxer briefs so exceptionally well.   
  
Unfortunately, not looking at his body means Kurt has no way of ignoring the shark-like grin on Brody’s face when he says, “We’re very good at being quiet.”  
  
Kurt wrinkles his nose and wonders how Rachel Berry ends up with men who Kurt would like to climb like a tree.  
  
“Rachel!” he shouts as he heads for his side with the dignity he has left, “could you please flaunt your sex life a little less obviously? And get Brody off the floor? And into some clothes, for god’s sake.”   
  
He hears Rachel’s giggle as he walks through his ‘doorway’ and when he spins around to shift the screen across the gap he sees her rush into Brody’s arms. His whole face lights up and he spins her around and it’s so much the opposite of Kurt’s life that he wants to eat his own hands.   
  
But when Rachel throws her head back and laughs, in that beautiful full-bodied way she has, and Brody watches her like she’s brought him the moon, Kurt can’t stop his smile. He carries it with him all the way through his Monday, all the way under his covers that night, all the way to typing his first text message to Blaine since…, well, just since.   
  
 _Happy Monday_ , it reads.


	19. Anthology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #9 anthology (Chris + Darren RPF, bro fic)
> 
> ~400 words

Darren collects mail. It’s one of the few habits he’s never shaken. When the mail arrives, someone pulls it in from the mailbox (okay, it’s usually Joey), and then it sits in a ‘Darren pile’ for up to a month before he opens it. He knows it’s stupid – what if there was something _important_  in there? But most of his bills get forwarded these days if they’re not sent by email, so more often than not he sits down to a strange assortment of letters from old friends, postcards, junk mail, or strange letters that he throws out without reading. 

On this particular day, Darren sits down and opens a box with the entire Beatles anthology inside.   
  
On vinyl.   
  
In mint condition.  
  
“Oh my  _GOD_!” he shrieks, loud enough that Joey comes down the stairs.   
  
“Is that–?” Joey asks, pointing a shaking finger at the box.   
  
Darren just nods, unable to take his eyes off the box.   
  
“Thank god you didn’t throw your record player out,” Joey says. “There was a method to your hoarding after all.”  
  
Darren slides his phone out of his pocket, eyes still fixed in place. He hits his speed dial number by muscle memory.   
  
“Chris?” he says. “Guess what just arrived at the house!”  
  
On the other end of the line, Chris sighs in that tired way he reserves only for Darren. “A boxed set of the Beatles anthology on vinyl?”  
  
Darren’s jaw drops open and he splutters. “What? How–?”  
  
Chris makes a little pained noise. “I got the receipt yesterday. Apparently I sleep-bought you a belated birthday present.”  
  
Darren bites his lip and tries not to snort with laughter at the dejection in Chris’ tone.   
  
“Jesus, that’s insane! Did you want to return it? I haven’t opened it yet. It probably cost a fortune.”  
  
He crosses his fingers where they are resting on his thigh.  _Please say no, please say no_.   
  
“Oh don’t worry about it,” Chris says, and Darren can hear the faint smile through the phone. “I bet Joey’s already got the record player out.”  
  
Darren wonders if sheepishness is audible. When Chris laughs, he has to assume it is.   
  
“Now I’m a very busy writer, so please leave me alone,” Chris says, and Darren just grins and starts singing  _I am the Walrus_  at him until he hangs up.   
  
He spends the afternoon in a vinyl-induced high dancing in the living room with Joey and thinking about the now exponentially raised stakes for Chris’ birthday.


	20. Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #10 painting (seblaine)   
> ~450 words

Blaine froze when the model walked into the room. He was  _stunning_ : long limbs, fair skin with his hair pushed back carelessly.   
  
Blaine’s professor stood in the middle of the circle of easels, a small stool placed beside him. “Class, today we will be experimenting with the male form. Please welcome our model for the day, Sebastian.”  
  
Blaine ducked his head as the model – Sebastian – strode into the centre of the group and started to shrug off his robe. He caught a glimpse of Sebastian’s back, muscles easily visible beneath the skin as he rolled his shoulders, and hurriedly looked down at his blank sketch book.   
  
When he looked back up, Sebastian was naked and perched on a stool; one leg propped onto the foot rest and the other on the floor. His arms were casually relaxed in his lap – his  _naked_ lap. Artistically, it was a simple pose. Blaine tried to take in the line of his shoulders and neck and instead found himself eyeing the model’s clearly defined abs and the way his hair trailed down to his–   
  
Blaine sucked in a deep breath and looked resolutely down while he sharpened his pencil. This was going to be a long class.   
  
Forty minutes in, and Blaine suddenly realised his teacher was standing behind him. He stiffened and nearly put his pencil through the page.   
  
“Very good, Blaine,” his teacher murmured. “You’ve captured his form beautifully.”  
  
It was, Blaine had to admit, some of his best work. He’d spent so much time studying Sebastian with a careful (okay, lustful) eye that his likeness was almost exact, precise in a way he usually avoided.  
  
“Uhh, thank you,” Blaine stuttered, trying not to notice the way Sebastian’s eyes were watching them.   
  
“Perhaps another angle now?” His professor raised his voice, and Sebastian looked openly at Blaine for a moment before standing.   
  
Then, he turned and leaned over the stool, resting his hands on the seat and propping one leg back up onto the foot rest. Blaine found himself staring at a stunningly round ass, with just a tantalising glimpse of Sebastian’s cock between his legs.   
  
He tried helplessly to swallow.   
  
Sebastian turned his head then, looked back at him over his shoulder, like a scene out of a porno for god’s sake.   
  
“Does this suit?” he asked, voice smooth and deep. His eyes never left Blaine’s face.   
  
“Excellent,” the professor replied. “Blaine, I’m interested in seeing your final work from today if you wouldn’t mind waiting after class. You’re much improved.”  
  
Blaine nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Sebastian winked at him before spinning his head back to the front, and Blaine couldn’t help his startled laugh.   
  
Looks like he just found himself a muse.  


	21. Champagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #11 – champagne
> 
> Sebastian, unrequited Sebastian/Blaine, Blaine/Kurt
> 
> ~500 words
> 
> (warning for sort of Finn references)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last I managed of the 30 days of writing challenge.

Sebastian’s hand is curled into a fist so tight his fingernails are nearly drawing blood from his palm. It’s not too obvious, he thinks, the fist pushed deep into his blazer pocket. He’s got game, after all, and showing his anger isn’t the way to come out of this situation a winner.

No, he thinks wryly, instead he’ll grin and bear it at Kurt and Blaine’s engagement party and remind himself that this is winning. Because commitment, in his experience, is just exhausting.

It’s not a party, anyway – more of an impromptu gathering after the proposal that afternoon at Dalton. Sebastian is sitting on the edge of a couch; Jeff and Nick sprawled next to him chattering excitedly about the number of girls who are walking through Dalton at this very moment. He’s watching Blaine, of course, watching where he’s holding court with the McKinley crowd, some new kids Sebastian’s never seen before hanging off his every word.

The other-Rachel seems kind of cute, Bambi-esque in a way that appeals to him. He likes the ones that look easy to break with a bit of photoshop and banter. And the blond one – Finn 2.0 he’s calling him in his head, has a great looking body if Sebastian’s being honest. And he’s giving looks to other-Rachel and her boyfriend, and truly, it isn’t clear which one he’s glaring at more.

Looks like someone needs a safe opportunity to try out dick. And Sebastian happens to know just the opportunity. He lets his smile grow, preparing himself for the moment. He’s thinking he’ll use what he calls the soft approach: quietly confident while complimenting the boy’s boyband hair, then upgrading to some gentle touches to the shoulder and arm, before sealing the deal with a whispered comment while leaning into his ear.

The moment’s broken when Kurt slips up beside Blaine and into Sebastian’s eyeline, his hand running possessively across his back in their obscenely coloured suits. They’re both ridiculously overdressed for the occasion, although that’s not totally shocking, Sebastian admits to himself. Blaine’s been overdressed just about every time he’s seen him.

He grinds his teeth a little as Blaine’s smile ratchets up a notch at Kurt’s touch, his eyes crinkling as he looks at his fiancé. Ugh. Who can imagine a lifetime of commitment anyway, let alone even want it?

Not Sebastian, that’s for sure.

Still, he holds off approaching Finn 2.0 after that. He’s really a bit too tall, it turns out. Sebastian kind of wants to fuck someone tonight and he wants someone who’ll fit a little better against him when he pushes them up against a wall. And the kid’s face is a little bland, a little… fresh? Sebastian thinks he wants someone more–, well, something. He just wants something else, and this guy isn’t fitting the bill.

So maybe his fist is back in his pocket when he raises his champagne glass (filled with non-alcoholic sparkling, this school is such a drag) in a toast on behalf of the Warblers, and maybe his smile feels a little forced when he watches Rachel give a tearful speech about something or other. And if he slides out before the party finishes, it’s only because it’s two-for-one night at Scandals and he has a new polo shirt he wants to wear.


End file.
